


A Goddess' Mercy

by PTWL



Series: Kinktober-2019 [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Begging, Creampie, Cum used in fertility rituals?, F/M, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, Kinktober 2019, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Sex Work, Temple/Religious Prostitution, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, as an orc thing, sex as praying, technically it's also age difference because of their races..., there is a lot of cum in this once like a LOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-01 05:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTWL/pseuds/PTWL
Summary: They laugh as they roll amidst her cushions and her robe comes off and the metal of her torque warms between their chests, pressed together. Finally, she manages to pin her to the floor, holding his wrists above his head and smiles warmly. By Mother Sea, she’s beautiful. Bjarte doesn’t feel the need to fight back but lay there on her luxurious carpets and velvets and wait for whatever she wants to take from him. He’s been hard for nearly a whole week onboard and now he feels like she could finish him off by just staring at him.“Let me join you in prayer.” His throat feels dry when he speaks[Day 2: Begging]





	A Goddess' Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Here I go again, barely making it even if it's only day two. I hope you enjoy this one.

Her Holiness’ chambers in the High Temple of Arawai in the capital of Artani smells like cinnamon, saffron, and incense. Vaporous green sheer curtains cover the stained glass, bathing them in green sunlight as if they were inside a deep forest. Bjarte can still taste the oysters in pomegranate juice and the honey-soaked figs as he kisses her Holiness Sehanora.

She is otherworldly beautiful, like a statue made of gold. Her hair. Her eyes. Even her skin shines golden from the sun and essential oils. Sehanora wears a see-through green robe without undergarments and golden jewelry with polished malachite. However, Bjarte pays little mind to the gemstones as he sucks her hard nipples through the smooth fabric of her clothes. She sighs, straddling him, sweeter than a spoonful of honey.

He had come to her naked and bathed in the temple, as tradition orders. In Artani, the priests and priestess of Suna, Goddess of Love and Beauty, and Arawai, Goddess of Fertility, offer their bodies in prayer. High Priest and Priestess are no different and Her Holiness Sehanora has been the head of the faith of Arawai for nearly two whole centuries in which she has beared many children. Her hips are wide and the stretch marks on her stomach shine like white reflections of light in gold. Her breasts are plentiful in Bjarte’s big hands as he cups them, opening her robe and nibbling at them. His tusks rubbing on sensitive skin.

Outside the temple, August’s heat rages on just as it does within Bjarte. But here, in her chambers, the temperature is pleasant the whole year. Orc blood has many singularities and, when the heat hits harder, it boils in a heavy rut. The high lasts for a week. His sister and captain, Tyra, is merciful with him and has planned for them to lay anchor in Artani’s capital for the week, where he can meet the High Priestess, a good friend of Stormseeker. Also, the clergy of Arawi often considers that rut...wastes have special properties that can be used to make holy remedies to boost fertility.

Bjarte knows that Sehanora and he can’t have children without any magical means, and he feels slightly relieved by that, but he also knows that she enjoys his company truthfully. They laugh as they roll amidst her cushions and her robe comes off and the metal of her torque warms between their chests, pressed together. Finally, she manages to pin her to the floor, holding his wrists above his head and smiles warmly. By Mother Sea, she’s beautiful. Bjarte doesn’t feel the need to fight back but lay there on her luxurious carpets and velvets and wait for whatever she wants to take from him. He’s been hard for nearly a whole week onboard and now he feels like she could finish him off by just staring at him.

“Let me join you in prayer.” His throat feels dry when he speaks. Sehanora is sitting above him and he can feel the wet heat of her soaking core like a blessing and a curse, so close yet so far away. He needs her.

She puts a strand of her sun-colored hair back behind her ear in a delicate movement. “You already are, Shipwreckborn.” Her voice is gentle and he doesn’t dare nor want to complain impatiently. Her eyelashes are also flaxen, breathtaking. She looks at him carefully, taking her time to fully consider her options. Tortuously slowly, she raises her hips a bit above him and Bjarte shortly hopes that she is going to take him within her but she doesn’t. Her fingers trace her stomach until they arrive at her mound and she sinks them inside herself carefully up to the heavy rings she wears, mouth open ajar, caught between an almost silent, half-sigh and half-gasp.

Bjarte watches dumbfounded as she fingers herself and her jewelry glitters wet from sweat and her slick. Sehanora moans quietly and takes Bjarte’s penis in her other hand. The cold of her metal rings sends shudders through him and he hisses with his eyes closed. He feels her so very warm, so close. Sehanora rubs him against her swollen clit and she takes a deep breath, stomach sinking and relaxing once she sighs with her mouth open and head nearly thrown back. Her weight shifts above Bjarte and he holds into her wide hips as she adds yet another finger inside herself.

In a temple of Arawai, there is no need to mind your voice, unlike Bjarte is used to on a ship, where you rarely find some privacy. Sehanora calls moaning or gasping or panting ‘thanking the Gods for the gift of pleasure’ and doesn’t see any shame in it or encouraging her partners to do so always as they pray. And she calls cum ‘the gift of Life’ as anyone else would do with wheat seeds. Here, what they do isn’t only sex or rut but something sacred, a seal of the devotion to the Goddess and a prayer for Autumn's harvest to be abundant.

But Bjarte can’t stand it anymore. He can smell her arousal clearly, damp and sweet as she uses him until she’s dripping, sensitive and tender, nearly shaking every time she draws circles with him outside her folds. It’s driving him to madness. Bjarte can’t stand the sight and he raises an arm to cover his eyes, panting pathetically. “Please, Your Holiness. Don’t you want my gift of Life?” He is deeply embarrassed about calling it that way but bargain it is.

Sehanora chuckles breathlessly, a sound that has made many men and women falter for many years. “And I will have it. Thankfully, your gift is plentiful within you now, even more than it must be usually.” Bjarte can tell she’s smiling even without glancing at her. Her sweat… Her smell is going to murder him if he doesn’t come soon. “I will have as much of it as I need. With some luck, your gift will help me out getting with child again by the end of the year and the fields of my people will grow healthily.” She talks with such certainty that Bjarte doesn’t doubt her words even for the slightest while.

Then she squeezes his balls and he stains her outer folds white, head going blank suddenly, so fast it leaves him dizzy and confused. “Mother bellow…” Bjarte asks her too for mercy just in case Sehanora doesn’t listen to him. The worst part is that he knows that it will many more tries before his erection retreats for the day and he truly feels exhausted.

“I think you should ask for Sehanora above instead.” She’s holding herself always on the brink of pleasure but never enough for her to end. Bjarte finally dares to look at her as she takes her fingers off and licks them clean. “We should give it another try.” She’s radiant. She runs her hand through Bjarte’s dick until it’s smooth with his own come and then plays with his head again. Up and down her slit. Even in her warm chambers, it cools off soon while her arousal remains heated with her boiling blood. With her other hand, she seeks for leverage and feels Bjarte’s hard stomach. Fingers and nails play with his coarse black hair as she feels his healthy fat and the harsh muscle beneath. He’s been raised large and with a body to strike with Father’s Fist of Thunder when the need arises by His grace. Now, however, his body is but a humble offering and Her Holiness leads the ceremony.

He grunts animalistically and tries his best to avoid closing his fingers to tightly on her waist. He would hate to harm her, to harm any partner of his, and any pleasure would fade if he looked at the bruise of fingers on her. But Bjarte can taste her excitement in the tip of his tongue even clearer now every time he breathes in, overpowering the taste of their previous feast. “I need your warmth, please, Your Holiness…” He manages something coherent enough. Way more coherent than he feels. “It’s cold I don’t want you to feel it cool too…” He makes the mistake of thinking about his rut spent cooling on her thighs, on her belly, and her pubic hair as her skin remains glittering with sweat after sex. Sweet like grape juice running down his jaw after taking a bite. And he’s over once again, chest shaking in almost a sob. He doesn’t even have time to close his mouth and the High Priestess’ guards on her door must have heard him.

“Yes!” She encourages him ardently. She cleans a patch of her mound of cum and pushes it inside herself with her fingers. “Let the Gods hear your gratitude!” Her thighs, though, keep dripping white, soaking him and the soft and expensive fabrics beneath them. Bjarte isn’t ready for her to move abruptly and take him in a swift motion to the base. He spends himself just a bit more within her for the first time this once. He can’t take it anymore, can’t lay back as she rides him mercilessly, pace sickeningly quick yet somehow not enough. So he sits up and grunts as he circles her waist. There’s fat there and some skin hanging from her stretch marks. Just like an idol of desire should look like. “I can see it!” She speaks as if in a deep trance, nearly there with him but not quite gone. “My people’s harvest, so full. Fields of wheat and corn moving like Mother Sea under the breeze. Lemons and blood oranges so large children must hold them with both hands. The fish in the nets like a swarm. Cattle growing strong and spices in the marketplace.”

It’s like being with an oracle mid divination. She talks and talks as her voice grows louder and more desperate, crying aloud her predictions as they ram restlessly into the other. Bjarte hides his face in the crook of her neck and bites her, tasting her golden torc and her skin alike. The taste of earth. He’s trapped in some sort of trance of his own too and Bjarte thinks she hears her say something about ‘bountiful’. “Yes, bountiful…” He repeats mindlessly as he nuzzles her, getting drunk on her smell and the weight of her body above his.

Sehanora finishes first this once with a piercing cry mid vision and her warmth and arousal come out of her like a waterfall. Bjarte flips them over in a rush and groans dangerously low as he keeps thrusting into her. Her hips keep moving even if her eyes are tightly closed, as if in pain. There is a pinch of agony in her voice too. They have chosen the voice of Arawai wisely. Sehanora is fertile fields and caring Sun and Summer storms gifting the common folk with fresh water. Her face is framed between his strong arms, hair spread over green carpets and cushions like sunlight kissing the green seas. Mother Sea and Father Sky kissing at dawn and twilight.

Bjarte gifts her with a roar, buried as deep as he can within her. He holds himself carefully above her with his arms, trying is best not to crush her under his weight. He feels week like a newborn and his head is light as a feather as he stays inside her after his orgasm. Until he thankfully begins to feel his cock softening for the day, surrounded by their mingled heat and he pulls away. Sehanora shivers in bliss as their spend flow from her. Her eyelids are only slightly opened but she stares at Bjarte. She’s gorgeous in her afterglow, all spread and tired as she pushes her fingers back inside her to keep her valued present from scaping before she can keep it somewhere safe.

Bjarte can barely see her soft floods behind the thick curtain of white and, if he didn’t know that Her Holiness needs that, he would cup her thick thighs between his large hands and drink like a desert wanderer from a full spring. He doesn’t though even if he licks his lips, unconsciously preparing himself for it. And here he thought that it was over for today.

Sehanora must have seen it because she laughs, almost panting, a breathy and high-pitched sound. “Are you doing to gift me again before the moon rises, Shipwreckborn?” She asks, stretching her already parted legs even further. “Help me put away for later your present first and then I will not make you come to me like a begging man next time you join me in sacred prayer.”

And so he does.

And she stays true to her word.

**Author's Note:**

> Bjarte is my main character in a discord rp based in a d&d universe with a friend of mine. Sehanora is also a character of mine but she hasn't made an entrance yet. I'll write more about this rp with some established couples for this kinktober.  
I'm weak for Interracial by Fantasy World Standards so be ready for a bunch more of those.


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